Aftermath Stories
by NixoliumZel
Summary: Well. My first attempt at something of the sort. There's a larger mostly OC world behind everything, so it doesn't necessarily have to make sense. I write for myself, not anyone else, but I'll be glad to answer any questions.
1. Lev, Hero of Blades

AN - So... This entire story features a combination of my own systems of magic as well as minor characters and magical systems from Harry Potter, Lorien Legacies, The Alchemyst, Sanderson's Cosmere, Rithmatist, PJO, and many more. Many characters and locations are different. Some terms have been changed and others invented. It intertwines all my ideas into one consolidated OC universe. Good luck! and Happy Reading~

Lev Rashe, the former Hero of Blades, sat mumbing, wondering, thinking, meditating. He sat alone on the shore of an abandoned beach. His face was turned towards the sea. Not a hint of civilization washed against the shore. Just him. His gleaming sword. The clothes on his back… simplicity.

"Lev?" A voice called.

It was a gentle voice. One who knew the many tribulations he'd gone through. The fear he constantly recalled. Reminding him that the many fears he once held no longer mattered. And yet, it did the opposite.

Suddenly, Lev was no longer on his aimless beach. No longer alone. He was in a desecrated capital of demons. Fires burned. Steel clashed. Corpses of strangers and the occasional friend littered the streets. A woman, the owner of the voice, stood over him, clearly wounded by countless cuts, shaking fervently in an effort to counter a dozen curses of corrupted magics, called his name. Or rather screamed it. Above it all, a giant demonic mirage loomed, with a dozen comets launching hopeless bursts of light. Heroes they were called. The term was meaningless. They were all just pawns.

"Lev?"

Apatheia's shadow hovered over the seated Lev. He looked up to find her dressed, as always, in her glowing armor, the sword-spear with two shining crystals imbedded in the hilt strapped behind her back. The Hero of Truth stood gallantly above his poor figure. Not a wound nor scar was present. No fires burned. No dead bodies lied around him. All was quiet.

"I made lunch." Apatheia said while demonstrating the tray in her arms.

She seemed happy. Nothing was wrong. Nobody was dead. It was pity, not pain that lingered in her voice… and yet that hurt all the same. It took a moment before Lev spoke up again.

"Lost in thought."

A flash of worry failed to hide itself upon Apatheia's face.

"Here," she said, holding up a bowl.

Lev accepted it as Apatheia sat down next to him.

"Well, Twelve messaged me yesterday." Apatheia said gently, "Something of a New Order."

"Twelve?"

The image of a seemingly-young half-demon girl appeared. Amethyst-eyed, dark haired. And hiding an endless supply mischief. Then she was there again, a longsword wreathed in hellstone's aura swinging at her defenseless figure. And the Voidwalker, suddenly appearing, from the Elsewhere, blocking the blow. The very man who'd denied Twelve's right to live a hundred years prior. A final apology for his prejudiced actions. Irony at its finest truth. Irony at its worst time. And there Lev sat, trapped in an Obsidian prison, unable to act, as one his friends died before him.

"Lev! Lev!

Apatheia's frantic voice woke Lev from his stupor. He was lying on his back, sweat covering every inch of his shaking body. The bowl of food Apatheia had painstakingly crafted was tipped over.

"Sorry," he soundlessly muttered, more lost in frustration than apologetic.

It was nice knowing that Twelve lived. They were twenty-one in number when the war started. Now, how many remained? Ten? Twenty? Why did they sacrifice themselves in the first place? If a New Order was truly in creation, what was Lev doing? He knew Apatheia would not leave without him, and he vowed to never hold her back.

"Are you alright?" Apatheia continued, hopelessness clouding in like rain clouds, oblivious to the inner revelations in process.

He was doing nothing. So many of his friends had already died for him, and yet he sat, pointlessly, counting his sorrows. Lev mentally made a final decision. People have given their lives for him. Must he continue to bear the very pains they'd died to clear? No. No longer. He looked down at the Arkium blade at his side. How many months had it been since he'd swung it?

Lev laughed.

"Am I alright?"

Without warning, Lev sprang to his feet. Apatheia looked up in confusion and surprise, and a sudden glimmer of hope. A new life seemed to glow within him.

"I'm in need of an adventure."

A nostalgic feeling of the old Lev flowed between them. No more of the broken man, lost in past traumas. No more of the pointless watching of endless waves. It was about time they stopped their meaningless isolation.

The Hero of Blades was once again reborn.


	2. Cedric, A New Life

Cedric found himself standing in the middle of an intersection clothed in strange half yellow half grey garb, tightly gripping a strange stick. Somehow, he knew it was made of Ash and Unicorn hair, and was exactly twelve and a quarter inches long. People milled about, generally ignoring him. Strange banners flew about, each wearing the insignia of a strange ghost blue lantern. Soldiers stood among shops selling various wares. Was that a sword? He circled, hoping to see a recognizable face. And yet, he realized, in a sinking horror, that he knew no faces. His latest memory… was a bright green light. Then nothing. Nothing but a name. Cedric. Just Cedric.

"Hello?" He whispered.

None paid him any mind. He was frightened. Lost. Nothing made sense. He looked over to a nearby produce shop and read its title: "Cyrkensian Fruits." Outside of it, a guard, wearing a strange full suit of clinking metal was speaking to the vendor. Cedric assumed the man, despite his seemingly uncomfortable dress, could lend some directions and approached him.

"Excuse me." Cedric asked timidly.

"What do you wa-" The guard's voice instantly paused as he spotted the strange stick in his hand. His eyes quickly widened, "I apologize honorable mage. How may I be of service."

The shopkeeper instantly backed away, a look of respect mixed with fear in his eyes. In the crowd around him, people paused, some pretending he didn't exist, others awkwardly trying to cover their attempt at leaving the area.

"Mage? Is that another term for wizards in this area?"

The term 'wizard' seemed to fit the context, yet Cedric was clueless on its meaning. A puzzled look appeared on the guard's face. His face of respect quickly turned to confusion.

"Surely you jest. You are a mage correct? Sure, an eccentrically dressed one, although the wand proves your ability."

"A wand?"

The words seemed to make some sense in his mind. The strange stick he was carrying was a wand? Somehow, Cedric knew it was the truth.

The respect from the guard's eyes faded into annoyance.

"Are you not a mage?"

"No… I don't believe so."

"Then how could you have come across such a magical weapon?" The guard looked closer at the stick Cedric was awkwardly holding, "Such power… You must be a thief!"

"Huh?"

Cedric's confusion simply grew, but the feeling quickly transformed into panic as the guard shouted: "Thievery in the Cyrkensian Kingdom is punishable by death!"

The next few moments came in a blur.

A sword was unsheathed. Then a blur of steel was raised. Then it fell, striking diagonally at Cedric's neck. Time seemed to slow before the two of them, and the world around them faded. Just Cedric, and the nameless, and angry, guard. Death seemed imminent… and strangely, familiar.

In the next instant, words bubbled to Cedric's lips. Words he did not know, yet knew all the same. Syllables that were unknown, but strangely right. There was no way to explain the sudden burst of knowledge, but instinct. As if he had done this action a thousand or a million times before.

As imminent death neared Cedric, a simple word of strange latinate syllables manifested into existence.

"Incendio!"

A blaze of crimson flame erupted from the tip of the wand. The frightened guard, startled, fell with a yelp into a pile of apples. Some bystanders ran. One screamed. The people around Cedric radiated fear. And Cedric felt horrible.

"I'm sorry I didn-"

The guard hastily rightened himself and knelt before Cedric, cutting off his apology with one of his own.

"I apologize for my disrespect. But, please, before you end my life, may I ask your name?"

"Cedric. Wait, I'm not going to hurt-"

"Caelus?" The guard nearly shouted.

Gasps rang from the few remaining awestricken bystanders.

"No, it's Cedric…"

"Please, just do what you must with me, great Cedric Caelus. I only ask you do nothing to pursue my family. I have-"

"I'm not-" Cedric protested in frustration.

A clear voice suddenly came out from behind him, or rather, almost above. Cedric turned. There, a young woman with long straight dark hair, floated. A thin black dress rippled like waves around her unblemished body. Despite the obvious daylight, a dark jagged lantern glowed with a faintly bluish-white light in her gloved right hand. Her eyes matched the lantern with a strange unnerving essence.

"Hello Cedric Diggory. My name is Cyr Caelus, queen of Cyrkensia. You are coming with me, we have some discussing to do."

There was no hint of hesitance in her speech. Ever word was spoken with absolute certainty, as if her very word was simply fact.

"My name is not-" And suddenly, Cedric knew, without any doubt, his last name, "Nevermind."

Thus, the two, one floating inches above the ground, the another walking while whirling in wonder, left.


	3. Another Beginning

A cloaked shadow flew swiftly through the city. Wandering mists bent aside, swirling, before returning to stasis. The empty streets below were wreathed in silence. The figure never slowed as he glanced from roof to roof.

Soon, a city wall soon loomed into the shadow's path. In an inhuman leap, he bounded straight over. A startled, half-asleep guard barely blinked as the shadow flew past. He grumbled a curse towards the wind before returning to his slumber. The shadow continued onward until he came to the foot of a small cliff. In another impossible leap, the shadow swiftly landed on top of the cliff.

"Nix, you're late," a female voice called.

There was a small edge of annoyance in the surprisingly gentle voice. Nix glanced over towards the origin of the sound. He relaxed as he recognized the dark figure who revealed herself from the shadows. The figure removed a worn black cloak to reveal long black hair framing light purple eyes. They glittered like amethysts, dancing with hidden mischief.

"Sorry, Twelve," Nix replied.

Despite the quick travel, not a hint of exertion appeared in his voice. A voiceless conversation played between the two. Greetings were unnecessary. They knew each other much too well. Nix moved to sit down by the cliffs edge, legs dangling carelessly, and motioned for Twelve to join him. Twelve walked over and sat to his side. The cliff gave the two onlookers a clear view of Asarian City. The tranquil night air was neither too warm nor cold. A full moon approached its zenith in the sky, partially obscured by clouds.

The two of them gazed over the capitol city. The royal castle appeared in the center of the city, surrounded by various monuments. A few churches, clearly marked by their raised crosses, were dedicated to the great goddess and scattered among clusters of lesser buildings. Glowing lanterns lined the streets. A large campus near the edge of the city showed the Asarian Academy, the kingdom's school of magic. The occasional flicker of shadow marked the passing of people on the moonlit streets.

"Well, how are things?" Twelve asked, breaking the silence and looking to her friend.

"Good, I suppose," Nix replied, slightly lost in thought.

He suddenly felt immensely tired. It was good being with Twelve, but he wasn't entirely sure how to continue. He pondered a few moments, carefully choosing his next few words before continuing, "I've decided on attending the Academy."

Twelve visibly twitched, unable to hide her surprise. "What?!"

"Yeah, thought it might be some fun." Nix said, trying to sound casual. He'd readied himself for Twelve's surprise.

"What can they teach us that we don't already know?" Twelve inquired.

"Humility?" Nix said, almost sarcastically.

"Hilarious. You do realize the two of us could easily raze this entire kingdom tonight, right?" Despite the usage of the word "Hilarious", curiosity rather than amusement flowed instead.

"Oh, I'll also be wearing a good amount of nihilite to avoid standing out."

"Even then, our Divine Blessings…"

"I've already asked Arke to suppress them."

"Suppress? She can do that?"

"Arke's not a goddess for no reason."

"..."

A silence ensued. Twelve was momentarily speechless, confused by Nix's actions. It seemed completely irrational. Why would one wish to weaken oneself? Why would one do something for no benefit? All this work for what? The questions seemed unanswerable. Twelve knew that Nix had always been somewhat strange, although never unreasonable.

"So, why'd you call me here?" Twelve asked, uncertain of her role in things.

"Well, I was hoping you'd join me," Nix replied.

"Join you?"

"Well, nobody anyone else would answer my calls. Really, they'd just laugh at me. Ezekiel busy being a king," Nix said thinking of names, "Lev and Apatheia are travelling the world. Kedar is probably killing innocents despite his repeated denials. The rest are… well… missing." Nix's voice trailed off.

Twelve understood. Not everyone survived the Cataclysm two years prior. Nix was barely a teen when he was forced to fight.

"Also, I kinda wanted a reason to see you." Nix finished.

Twelve blushed slightly. He was being silly again. The wind continued to gently glide as Twelve pondered Nix's request. She played with a few of her stray hairs, thinking.

"When would you start school?" She asked.

"Well, the entrance exam is tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? I haven't prepared anything!"

Nix laughed, "Down worry. I have some nihilite at an inn. Arke's also there. She can lock away your power."

Nix clearly used some degree of forethought.

"You convinced a greater goddess to stay at an inn?" Twelve asked suspiciously.

"Yeah, she favors me."

"She's also been worshiped by at least seven different kingdoms and usually lives in the Utopian Heavens."

"So?"

"Nevermind."

The two gazed over the city, quietly thinking of times past. Nix and Twelve were comrades during the Cataclysm. Both of them were incredibly powerful. Two years had passed since Erinye's defeat. Two years of peace to which the many kingdoms were given a chance to heal. Two years… it had already been two years of time... yet it felt like only yesterday.

Nix looked, smiling gently at Twelve. He knew her thoughts without speaking. Nix shifted closer wrapping her arm around Twelve's waist with a gloved hand. Twelve returned Nix's gaze without worry, no longer distracted by the glowing city below. Nix knew she'd accepted his offer.

"Shall we go?" Nix asked.

There would be a few more things they had to figure out, but Twelve trusted Nix to complete them. She supposed she could learn a thing or two about magical theory, although was still somewhat doubtful. Neither of them had actually received any foundational training in their abilities, despite their respective overwhelming strength. It could be interesting.

"I suppose," Twelve said before slipping into a lost tongue, "Ath loag maga trol."

Nix smiled at the mysterious words, feeling waves of nostalgia.

"Im dhcaeduic, esim dhcaeduic."


	4. Cora's Test

Cora Smithers bounded up the steps towards the academy entrance. Today was the day! Today was the day of the entrance exam for the Asarian Academy! She clutched a silver pendant to her chest, hoping for every possible ounce of luck. Excitement filled every step as she walked towards the campus's courtyard where many other aspiring mages awaited. A line had formed to register the hopeful students. Cora filed in, followed by a number of other teens.

A few minutes later, Cora registered with the academy's guards and stepped into a clearing. She was given a number "277". In the clearing, a stage was erected holding a strange grey and blue machine. To the side, many prospecting students were grouped together. The noble children showed off, pushing around rocks with telekinesis, while the poorer teen huddled to the side, watching in jealousy. Nobles were much more likely to be accepted, as they were generally had more powerful magical abilities.

Cora herself was born of noble blood. She, like that most of them, were educated about magic. Telekinesis was always the first magical Essence - the channel through which magic could be physically formed - a mage developed, usually around the age of twelve. Telekinesis started almost uselessly weak at first, but practice could strengthen it. Afterward, additional Essences could be spontaneously developed. Later Essences were developed at almost random, with no pattern to identity or strength. As soon as a young noble was discovered of their telekinesis, they were immediately taught through whatever textbooks their family owned to practice and control it. By the time they decided to attend the Academy, a few of them each decade had even developed a second Essence. Due to the availability of their education, nobles were much more likely to become powerful mages. Even so, many peasants came, hoping that their telekinesis would suddenly manifest.

Another noble girl gestured for her to join their circle. Cora instantly recognized her friend.

"Hey, Kiren," Cora said in greeting.

"Welcome, Cora!" Kiren replied, throwing a small fist-sized stone to Cora.

She instantly pushed her hands outward and activated her telekinesis and tried to catch it. The stone shook for a moment before stabilizing. Then, she threw it back towards Kiren who fumbled with the flying object before dropping it.

"Well, I'm not that good at it."

"Neither am I, but at least you have your Kinesis. That puts you ahead most of the competition already."

"True," Kiren giggled, "So, which number did you get?"

"277," Cora said.

"242," Kiren replied, "That's not too far apart."

A booming voice interrupted their conversation. "Hello students! I am a magister of this academy, Timothy Azura Fleming. As you all know, all citizens of Asaria are allowed to take this annual magic exam some time between the age of fourteen and eighteen. As always, the exam will feature a simple telekinesis strength test. Each of you will be scored based on your performance. The more powerful the push, the higher you score."

Magister Timothy swept his arm towards a machine. A loud cracking sound emanated from the machine and three glowing numbers appeared.

183.

"Of course, I don't expect anyone to achieve above a hundred. Anyway, try our best! The top hundred candidates will be allowed to enter the school."

Audible sounds of frustration resounded throughout the clearing. Academy acceptance often guaranteed a future of ease, but most of the candidates hadn't yet developed telekinesis. In fact, only half of all people ever do. As unfair as it seemed, this was a reasonable test. One's telekinetic strength often dictated their full magical potential.

"Now will we please have the student with the number 1 step forward." Magister Timothy called.

A young boy walked towards the magister. The magister gestured to a strange machine. A small gleaming plate was surrounded by Arklite. Arklite was one of the few existing materials that wasn't affected by telekinetic pushes, white the steel plate was. Using magical technology, it could be used to gauge the force generated by a telekinetic push. The first candidate steadied himself and pushed his hands forward.

Crash! The metal plate snapped backward creating a extraordinary sound. Applause resounded from all of the candidates below. Clearly, he had scored well. A pair of numbers soon appeared on the metal plate as it automatically moved back into position.

72.

A few cheers rise from the crowd. It was an extremely strong start.

Kiren waited nearly an hour before it neared her turn. Kiren has scored 43, placing her near the top, almost guaranteeing her a spot. Most however failed to reach above 10, assuming any score was achieved at all. Those who had no hope of entering the Academy grudgingly went home.

The past few Cora viewed scored solid zeroes.

"Candidate number 276," Magister Timothy called, "Please step forward."

By this time, the magister's voice was almost mechanical. He was clearly growing tired of the repeated calling of numbers. A boy at the age of seventeen nervously wandered onstage to the machine. Nothing happened and a few moments later. he was given a zero.

"Candidate 277, please step forward."

"May Arke be in your favor!" Kiren called to Cora. It was a common wishing of good luck.

Cora walked towards the machine. Nervous energy sprung through every limb. As she approached, she noticed how a thin line of nihilite separated the ground where she stood and the audience. This would prevent external influence on the testing. Cora wondered how much this small line cost.

"Please stand here," Magister Timothy gestured.

Cora did as asked and looked over towards the plate. It looked especially flimsy. Would it be able to handle Cora's strength? She had practiced at least once a week since her abilities first manifested. Slowly, she gathered power. She felt a faint tingling sensation in her fingertips. You can do this. You can do this. She repeated to herself. Cora glared the machine.

With a scream, Cora shoves both palms towards the machine. She was immediately met with a large amount of resistance. Cora pushes even harder, willing every whisper of her being into power. She felt a flow of energy pushing outwards from her fingertips foreward.

Crack!

The metal plate shuddered in its Arklite case. Cora's limbs felt completely exhausted of strength. She slumped and moved herself to a sitting position. Two digits appeared.

17.

Cora gasped. It was impossible. How could she score so low? With such a score, Cora's chances of attending the school seemed unlikely. How could such a thing happen? She knew she was expected to have among strongest of telekinesis. She felt that something definitely was wrong.

"Not a bad score, miss." Timothy said before falling the next candidate.

Cora begrudgingly walked back towards the rest of the crowd. There, Kiren, along with a few other friends sat waiting.

"Hey, don't worry! You'll make it." Kiren cheered, "Most of the rest of them are just peasants without any telekinetic training. You'll be fine!"

Despite her words, Cora felt distruat. Chances were that she would near the border between acceptance and failure. In previous years, the border line hovered around the 15 range. As time passed, her position slowly shifted backward. After another few hundred, she fell into the top eighty candidates. A large number of them scored exactly 18 points. After another five hundred, she shifted down to the top ninety. 72 continued to reign as the top score. By the time the last few candidates were lining up, Cora, as she predicted, fell dangerously close to the border. At the last five, Cora precariously held the ninety ninth position, without any ties.

"Number 1034, please step forward." The tired magister called.

The day was already mostly spent. The moon struggled to peak over the horizon as the sun barely gleamed alight. Dusk was approaching it's finale.

A boy with the number 1034 scored a zero. The following candidate scored a total of 15 points, just below the cut. The poor girl ran from the stage, crying. A future of rising in society through magecraft was now impossible.

Cora watched in hopeful silence as number 1036, a young dark-haired girl walked towards the machine. She was dressed in a the clothing of nobility, yet stood apart from the rest, next to what seemed to be a spindly peasant boy. She noticed in particular a glint of mirth in her strangely violet eyes.

* * *

Twelve and Nix rushed to the entrance exam, barely making it on time. Arke had helped them spend the entirely of last night crafting nihilite rings that sealed their magic without harming those around them. They were both drained of strength and sleep. In addition, roughly 99% of their mana was was locked away. To make matters worse, this process was far from painless. Both had spent long hours writhing in pain as magic was forcefully ripped from them. Aches ran along every square centimeter of their bodies and shuddered with the slightest movement.

Twelve and Nix were the last ones in and received numbers 1036 and 1037 respectively. They waited for most of the day, seperate from the others, talking about their travels. Night soon approached. Only those likely to become selected remained in the clearing, most of whom congratulating one another. Most left to go home, disappointed. A few drinks and snacks were passed around as the day came to a close. As the numbers began to wind down, Nix suddenly realized a problem.

"Twelve, you do know my telekinetic strength, correct?"

"Of course."

"Ummm… okay."

Twelve's turn soon arrived.

"Rug htan a dieht tael," Nix called cryptically.

A few surrounding students looked in confusion towards Nix. They saw his commoner's clothes and thought little. Twelve on the other hand was dressed in a beautiful black dress, bound in violet lace. It would clearly hinder her movements in actual combat, so the dress acted as a show of class and arrogance. She'd already attracted the attention of more than a few boys whom she'd politely rejected to speak to.

"Okay, I'll be nice." Twelve replies with a smile.

She courteously walked before the machine before bowing in front of Timothy.

"Hello, young Fleming," Twelve muttered quietly. Only Nix noticed Twelve's words. He sighed in annoyance. Obviously Timothy Fleming wouldn't recognize her. He had been a mere child then.

"Hello number 1036, please stand here." Magister Timothy.

Twelve walked over to the marked position and stood. There was a short pause. Nothing happened. No crashing sound occurred at all. The magister stared in boredom before writing down a zero. Twelve shrugged and walked off the stage. As she did, a number appeared.

378.

Twelve walked away, internally displeased by her own weakness. She'd assumed it would be a little higher. Meanwhile, gasps of confusion and wonder echoed throughout the crowd. Shouts of 'That's impossible!' were mixed with murmurs of admiration. Timothy himself wiped his eyes, wondering if his vision was incorrect.

"Wait, miss." Timothy called. He was sure he was experiencing some hallucination. He hadn't hard any sound, and yet the machine clearly responded.

"Yes?" Twelve asked innocently.

"Um, I think there may have been a mistake," Timothy said, "I'd like to have you retake the test."

"Mistake? How so?"

"There's usually a loud reverberation after pushing on the plate… and I didn't hear such."

"Well, I do have more than one Essence."

Timothy was surprised. Of the thousand candidates, Twelve was the first who claimed such. Usually, this meant enrollment into the Academy without need for such tests. New Essences rarely developed prior to entrance to the Academy. This was because the education was far superior to any found elsewhere and greatly encouraged magical development.

In addition, the test didn't measure the amount of force one generated from telekinesis, but the amount of magic release through the usage of an essence. That way, any essence can release incredible amounts of power.

What is your second Essence?"

Timothy made the assumption Twelve only developed a second as there had been no recorded instance of an aspiring student developing a third.

"It's Poison Immunity. I can remove any form of poison from a myself or another." Twelve said calmly.

Timothy nodded, understanding. It was quite unfortunate. Despite having an incredible amount of magical potential, he thought the ability couldn't be used for combat. Only half of them would ever develop a third Essence, and it often had some connection to their previous ones Combat mages were respected much more than non-combat mages. If Twelve had a form of Fortitude or elemental control at this young age, Twelve would be a prodigy along prodigies. He supposed that Twelve could have a promising future in healing others.

"Well, you obviously passed the examinations. Congratulations, you've obviously been admitted to the Asarian Academy. May I have your name?"

"Twelve Shadows"

"Well, I wish you luck in the future."

* * *

Nix watched, annoyed, as Twelve walked from the stage. He had specifically wished for Twelve not to stand out. Unfortunately, she had proceeded to calmly walk onstage and destroyed the competition, despite a 99% decrease in strength. Well, Nix thought, it couldn't be avoided. Twelve was one of the strongest mages even in the Order. As Twelve finished he briefly conversed with Magister Timothy before walking offstage. A number of students surrounded her, talking of her success.

Nix felt a sudden voice in her head. Twelve had connected them telepathically. Twelve was an experienced mage who'd developed far beyond her second Essence.

"Twel, was that strength really necessary?" Nix asked through the telepathic channel.

"You saw how weak it was," Twelve said, "You can easily top it."

"You do realize that my telekinesis is really weak right?" Nix said, a hint of worry in his voice.

Twelve noticed Nix's unease, "Nixy, I've seen you tear apart mountains. This is nothing."

"Ummm… that's called an illusion."

Realization dawned on Twelve. "Wait, you can't be serious."

"I… might be."

"..."

Twelve smiled innocently, startling a few of the crowd she was facing, thinking the smile was directed at them.

"Cast an Illusion then."

Nix shrugged, realizing that Twelve was probably right. He gathered all his Mana into his fist in preparation. He felt the internal energy swirling within spun a great degree faster. Given his current state, Nix's Essence of Illusion took a lot of time, Mana, and preparation to cast, but can cause startling effects when used in surprise. Droplets of energy coalesced as he prepared to top Twelve's score.

"Number 1037, please step forward."

"Person who scores lower buys dinner," Twelve called aloud, smirking. This caught the attention of a few others. Was it possible that Twelve's companion was just as strong? If so, how could any compete with these two prodigies? They were just much too strong!

"Sure, I can probably get at least 400." Nix said casually. He had combined all of his power into one burst of strength. He wondered what sort of illusion he would cast.

He smiled while walking towards the testing, confident that he'd earned a free meal. Magister Timothy showed him a marked location on the stage. Nix stepped onto it confidently. Suddenly, he felt something was wrong. All of the strength he had gathered was gone. Oh, come on, he thought. Nix cried mentally. He looked back, noticing a small trail of nihilite. At his weakened state, nihilite could easily negate his magic.

Nix looked back to where Twelve stood. She was struggling to stop from laughing uncontrollably, knowing full well of the nihilite countermagic. How foolish would he be should he fail to pass the test? Nix wondered if he should remove the Arke's ring. But he thought otherwise. Removing such would unseal all the power Arke had carefully disabled. She was literally immortal and was worshipped by thousands, so her time couldn't be taken lightly. She had spent an entire night of time for their sake. Arke wouldn't be too pleased to do it again.

Nix thought for a moment, a burning annoyance in his heart. He knew his strengths didn't lie in pure force. He'd always fought with surprise and trickery, never head on. The machine seemed to return life's mockery. Nix slowest gathered his dregs of strnough strength. He pooled all the energy from his internal magical vortex into the palm of his hands. It wasn't much. He barely felt any energy in his fingertips. This was how it felt to be so helplessly weak. Then he pushed telekinetically.

A few of them had even made small bets on who would win. Most favored Nix by his extreme confidence. In the corner, a young red-haired Cora watched hopelessly. If Nix was anywhere as strong as Twelve, she'd have to try again for the Academy next year. A small crack resounded in the testing machine. The Arklite trembled slightly. There was no large blast of energy as the onlookers predicted. Everyone watching looked as a number slowly appeared. Even the magister had high hopes for him.

17.

Only seventeen points? Everyone was surprised. Where was all of Nix's confidence from? They coughed in disbelief. How could someone so strong and weak be so close? Questions swirled throughout the audience. A shout of "What the hell?!" peaked above the throng. Timothy noted his score and began tallying them.

Nix was worried. Not whether he would be able to attend the academy with his score, but rather about their seemingly harmless bet. Nix glared at a still giggling Twelve. Knowing Twelve, she would shamelessly choose the most expensive restaurant in the city. Nix didn't actually have enough money for such. He began to worry. Would he have to spend the night begging for money?

* * *

Cora Smithers was among the very confused crowd. Next to her, Kiren cheered.

"If you beat him in a duel, you can attend the academy!" Kiren said excitedly.

"What?" Cora asked somewhat confused.

"You two tied for the hundredth place. Ties are settled by a duel!" Kiren said. "And since your telekinetic strengths are the same, it's all about martial art skills. You'll easily win."

Hope flared within Cora. She had been taught from a young age by all of the top warriors of the Smithers family. None of her siblings could rival her in hand to hand combat. If number 1037's telekinesis was as weak as hers, she stood a chance!

Timothy announced the names of those accepted to the academy one by one from highest to lowest score. As he approached the bottom, he noticed a tie for the hundredth place.

"It seems we have a tie. Cora Smithers and Nixolium Zel, please step come here. As mentioned previously, the winner of this quick duel will attend the academy. The first one who exists this circle or is unable to fight will lose. Try not to permanently hurt the other and remember that we are all people of one kingdom."

A small circle was created in the clearing and Cora and Nix moved to opposite ends. A guard walked over and offered Cora a number of blunted weapons. Cora looked at each of them. The spear would offer her the greatest reach, although the she was more skilled at close range with a sword. The axe and bow looked promising as well.

After deliberating for a few moments, Cora grasped the wooden sword in two hands. It was slightly unbalanced at the hilt, although it would make do. She looked across the circle to where a black-haired boy stood. His height was slightly above average and seemed rather skinny. His arms looked rather fragile. Worry was clearly displayed in his dark-colored eyes. He looked with unfamiliarity at all the choices before him. After some time, he looked over to Cora, who was balancing a sword in her hands. All the confidence from before was nowhere to be seen. He picked a small wooden knife. This will be easy thought Cora.

* * *

Nix looked at he knife in his hands, still wondering how he would pay for the night's meal. He wondered if Arke would be willing to let him take a loan. He doubted it as it was already incredibly awkward for her to stay at a cheap inn. Twelve had already scolded him for the poor accommodations, ignoring Nix's complaints that he lack funds. Due to his young age, he found it difficult to find employment, Nix has been taking odd jobs for almost a year.

Across the clearing, Cora stood in an offensive stance. There were no places to hide and he couldn't attack using surprise. Nix was out of his element. Unlike Cora, Nix had already fully developed all of his abilities. Unfortunately, Arke had severely weakened them. He quickly tried to run through his various abilities. His telekinesis was next to useless. He tried his fourth Essence, but his completely used bits of magic were insufficient to activate it, wasting critical sparks of mana. His Divine Blessing had also been removed. He would have to rely on his opponent being incapable at physical combat.

He prepared to cast an illusion of himself to distract his opponent. Magic welled into his fingertips. Too slowly, magic began to pool as it accumulated. As he did, Cora ran at him. She was clearly adept at swordplay. When Cora was inches away, Nix sharply canceled the insufficiently supplied illusion, wasting more Mana, and sharpened his focus, forcefully activating his second Essence. It barely functioned at a ridiculously weakened state. He hastily predicted the path of Cora's first horizontal slash. A moment before impact, Nix lashed out with his knife while spending his pooled mana to activate his fifth Essence. If all went well, Nix's knife would strike Cora without any damage to himself. As if Arke's luck suddenly turned against him, things didn't go well.

The blunted edge of Cora's sword knocked Nix off his feet. He dropped his knife in the process. Cora quickly kicked it aside. A deep gash opened up on his upper right arm, rendering it useless. Nix suddenly recalled the effects of Arke's ring. He mentally swore to himself. Of course his fifth Essence didn't work. It required Mana he didn't have. Nix realized he might actually lose. He was in a bit of trouble.

Cora slashed her sword to where Nix had fallen. Nix once again tried to activate an ability. He realized he had been relying upon them way too much. He should definitely work more on his physical strength. The sword struck downward, almost in slow motion. Nix rolled to the left. The blade whistled past inches from his head. Nix continued the roll and suddenly sprung up to his feet. He was unarmed. Cora swung her sword diagonally at Nix, never giving him a moment of respite. Nix once again watched the blade carefully. It would strike the elbow of his left arm. Nix jumped back, narrowly avoiding the swing. Without stopping, Cora swing again in the opposite direction. Nix once again narrowly dodged.

Nix was worried. The magic within him bubbled much to slowly to have much effect. He would soon run out of his already depleted mana. If he continued any further, his magic would begin to consume him. Once that happened, it would kill him. The knife he'd selected was out of reach. Blood was dripping freely from the wound on his arm. His opponent was quite skilled with the sword. Nix's honed agility was the only thing keeping him from losing.

Cora continued a furious assault. None of her swings were particularly fancy, but they were fast and accurate. Nix narrowly dodged them all, but was slowly forced backward. He needed an opening. Nix watched closely at Cora's sword, hoping to find a weakness in her stance. Suddenly, he noticed a possibility. Slash after slash, Nix continued to dodge. Cora, despite the exertion, only pushed herself faster. She even used her own telekinesis to push the sword to swing with greater strength. Every few movements brought sharp new gashes of pain to Nix. A few slashed nicked his skin and clothing, leaving a dozen small cuts.

Nix was slowly backed up to the edge of the circle. He found he could no longer retreat backwards. To finish things, Cora gallantly swung diagonally downward. The strike, fueled by a push of telekinesis moved at speeds that Nix could barely comprehend. Nix suddenly stepped forward trying to attack. He used the palm of his left hand to block the blow. A sharp cracking sound echoed as multiple bones shattered. Screaming in pain, Nix managed to deliver a kick into Cora's knee. Cora stumbled a few steps backward but managed to stay upright. Nix seethed, holding his broken hand. Cora watched Nix, feeling triumphant. She'd won magnificently.

Cora was never a brutal person. She simply did what had to be done.

"Do you concede?" Cora asked, giving her opponent an opportunity to end things without any more pain. She was growing tired of a duel she thought she'd won.

"Never."

Nix refused without hesitation. His stubbornness, honed by years of fighting foes more powerful than he, would never allow him to give up. He had an idea. Cora made two quick steps forward and swung horizontally at Nix's chest. Instead of dodging, Nix jumped. To spectators, is seemed almost inhuman. Nix's feet effortlessly sailed over Cora's sword. He landed a kick onto Cora's shoulders, using his feet to push forward her momentum. As she stumbled, Cora continued her swing until the blade swung behind her and twisted backward to strike at Nix. The reverberation from the contact caused her feet to trip in the grass. The sword clipped the back of Nix's knee causing him to lose his balance as well. Both of them sprawled on the ground unceremoniously.

Nix painfully landed face first into the grass. His world filled with darkness as he lost consciousness.

At the same time. Cora tripped while spinning and landed on her butt. She'd lost her grip on her sword. As she turned to the fallen form of Nix, she momentarily celebrated. Suddenly, she noticed Nix's push had sent her flying outside of the circle. By regulation, she had been disqualified.

Magister Timothy watched the match carefully. Cora's swordplay was quite magnificent. Nix on the other hand struggled the entire time, but did manage to gain a sudden upper hand near the end. One was unconscious while the other had been pushed out of the circle. He wasn't sure who to declare the victor.

"Messenger!" Timothy called to one of his apprentices who was watching the duel, "Get the headmaster."

"Yes, sir." He called before running in the direction of the headmaster's office.

A few minutes later, the headmaster of the Asarian Academy walked over. He was quite old and experienced as a mage. He'd served as one of the most important steelcaster mages during the Cataclysm and was well respected by the country.

Headmaster William Astra listened as Magister Timothy explained the circumstance. Two candidates were both defeated at the same time. Cora was obviously quite skilled with the sword. On the other hand, Nix was physically weaker, but displayed wonderful strategy, allowing the duel to end with a tie rather than a loss. In addition, he was a friend of Twelve, a promising new students.

Nix was being nursed by an Academy student with a healing Essence. The prodigy, Twelve, sat at his side, mercilessly scolding him. Cora talked with worried tones in a group of her friends, waiting for the verdict.

Headmaster Astra pondered for a moment before speaking. "I suppose we can accept both of them."

For the first time in the history of the Asarian Academy, the year's class accepted 101 students.


	5. Dark

The woman was anything but Dark. In her glistening white battle armor and matching silver aura, she carried her signature banner with what could only be described as an enlightening holy aura. And yet, she was called Dark… because people of the shadowrealm had no tongue for French vocabulary… and she'd given up trying to correct others. Dark constantly wondered about the creator of the shadowrealm? She'd been living in this world for almost a year, and yet, she found no leygates or exits to the realm. Yet, there were so many figures of power walking in the condensed realm. Dark had of course travelled. She'd met people, some of the immortals she even recognized, but none seemed to know her. At least, not the same "her."

Dark eventually gave up and began to accept her reality. It was peaceful - most of the time. There were always a few neighborly clashes over chickens. She eventually decided to settle in a small remote farming village, just like the one from her childhood. Riverwood it was called. It was an almost irrelevant in the face of the great Asarian Kingdom. It seemed simple enough. She shed her armor and took a role as one of many villagers, plowing a few small acres of fields. Of course, she didn't actually need to eat. Or sleep. Her vanilla-scented aura sustained her. But it was nice simply living.

And thus, time passed.

Years flew by. Dark allowed herself to appear older. The warrior within her remained dormant under the smiling facade of innocence. Dormant, but as strong as ever.

"Grrrrrr…"

A rolling rumbling noise echoed throughout the village. People paused in their work, looking fearfully at the sky for any signs of storm. And yet, the storm that approached was greater than any force nature could bring. Elsewhere Dark, a woman supposedly approaching 50, paused in her conversation with Elder Graham.

She recognized the feeling. There was a definite tension in the air, as if the earth itself was watching in anticipation for what was to come. The birds, the wind, were all strangely silent, almost unwilling to move. In an instant, her mind shifted towards the village. Her usually present smile was gone, replaced with an expression of undenyable seriousness.

Elder Graham stood in fear. Could it possibly be an earthquake? But it felt unnatural. No earthly creation could possibly create such a terrible tremor. She barely noticed, cowering in fear.

Dark whirled. Fear and worry ignited long-silent nerves into action. She smelled… ash. Flames, and the disgusting scent of blood. Dark ran. Why could there never be peace in the world? Why must people find such boredom in simple lives? As, the wind whipped past, nightmarish recollection of her many hellish battles flooded her mind. Where she charged, with solely her banner into the fray. The banner that led her armies to victory despite her femininity. And this very banner she'd held high for so many years instantly manifested into her fingertips. The banner who's flag may have changed as she served varying sides of conflict, but represented the same ambition to lead, and win.

And thus wafted a fait scent of calming vanilla.

It's rough feel, worn from a thousand sword swings rubbed against her palms. Of course, she could have easily willed them away, but the nostalgia that came with them was too much to lose. It was a memory of her time as a mortal. Before she was betrayed by her country. Before she was rescued from the stake by Scathach. Before she was infused with vampiric blood into deathlessness.

Dark didn't slow until she rounded about a final set of straw-built homes. There, a terrible sight loomed before her. Clearly it was a demon… of sorts. Purple skin folded over awkwardly angled joints to form an amalgamation of unnatural perpendicularities. It was vaguely humanoid, with two distinct, although distorted, arms and legs. The term "demon" really was to wide of a spectrum. The three-meter tall shadow before her was clearly tampered from any of the generally accepted races.

Dark eyes narrowed onto the body before her. Dark realized with a sinking horror upon recognition. Elder Zahard. He was the oldest among the village elders. The first face who'd recognized her to the community so many years prior. And now, nearly cleaved in two, in a feeble attempt at resistance. Riverwood held no warriors. No mages. It lived on it's lack of notability on the grander scheme, struggling to stay afloat in its lonely independence. The creature hovering over the collapsed form of Zahard, savoring it's moment to strike.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

A scream erupted from Dark. It was filled with seas of seething rage, for the disruption of her hopes for peace. The sound edged towards the very dark that which her name was falsely derived. Anger, so much of it. Roiling. Unkept. To be unbound. The corrupted mass peered towards the strange old woman, running at her, a strange pole in hand. Despite the seeming-ridiculosity of the scene, a chilling sense of worry flooded the demon.

The fallen Zahard peered back, pains creeping into his face, painted with a silent, hopeless, "No!"

And Dark was not afraid.

In an instant, a shining silver light bloomed around her. Years melted off her body, becoming once again bright and vitalous. The scent of vanilla burned the air, becoming tangled strands of sickly sweet. The flag she held in her hand glowed with a furious light. A full set of shimmering battle armor flooded into existence. Another scream, no less louder, but infinitely more fearful rang aloud.

The flag in her hands burned. A glaring blaze erupted around her, like a thousand suns, too bright to look at directly. Her seemingly harmless flag became a liquid flash of flame.

The motion was simple. A hundred meters covered in a blurred few steps. A quick swing of the gleaming pole to what appeared to be a mutated neck.

And the demon felt only a moment of pure terror. Before nothingness.

The demon was not alone. In the few seconds she'd taken to slay one, a hundred more came into view. Some had reached Riverwood, mutilating corpses, reaving homes, decimating peace around her. Dark could not stop them all. Just anger. Anger for the fallen. Anger for the chaos. Anger for the ones that had wreathed havoc on her protected lands. And most of all, anger for her own presumption of eternal peacefulness.

Dark wasted no time for her grieving. Such a time would come later. When it was all over. She stood, Spotted the nearest demon. There was no hesitation. Attack came at an instinct. Nothing fancy, just a simple swing to a vital point. And death. But no matter how many she killed, Dark was only one person. For every swing of her flag, another ten houses would be shattered into pieces. Dark would never keep up.

Many hours later, Dark stood surrounded by the rotting corpses of monster and man alike. She'd fought without rest for so long, and for what result? The village was the same. She'd found nothing but the dead. Dead faces, first Elder Zahard, the ever-smiling Johnsons, mischievous Ellion… Faces she recognized, or worse, were so disfigured she didn't.

She faced the last of the demons. A leader of sorts. A dozen strikes were already torn through its disgusting purple flesh. Dark stood without a scratch. Here banner held only the same grooves as before. Not an inch of blood coated her armor or flag.

"Who…" A croaking voice came from the dying mass of crumbing flesh and blood, "are y-"

The demon never wasn't worthy of words. He was already dead.

A decapitated disfigured head lay next to Dark, who stood over the fallen form of Zahard, trying to bring wakefulness to his forever-closed eyes. Sorrowful tears. Curses of vengeance. It wasn't enough. The perpetrators were already gone from the word. Their souls were locked under Dark's glaring magic of purification. There was nothing else to be done. But discontent remained.

Riverwood was gone. Dark sat on the ground, finally settling into her sorrows…

"Elder Dark?"

Dark looked up. Before her, a young girl stood. She could have been no more than ten. Her arms were covered in a dozen scratches and her right arm was bent at an impossible angle. Blood and tears pooled around her nearly shredded cloths. At the sight of the brightly lit armor and silver flag, hope seemed to glimmer in her pain-filled eyes.

Warmth swelled in Dark's heart. A survivor. It was an impossibility. She'd found no others, and assumed there to be none. Could God have brought a blessing? If so, she must preserve his will.

"Yes, little one. You are?"

The girl tried to backpedal in fear. Not in the fear of losing one's life, but in the childish, innocent fear of mysterious strangers. Dark realized that she looked so many years younger than her recognizable self. She smiled with happiness.

"I apologize for the lack of introduction. I am the Immortal Jeanne D'arc, Maid of Orleans, daughter of Jacques d'Arc and Isabelle Romee of Domremy. But you know me as Elder Dark."

"Dosei"

"Dough-zay?"

"Yes, Dosei Evans."

"Well, little Dosei, the holy Christ has spared your life. And thus, you are under my protection."


End file.
